Poem-A-Day: Day 298

\[]-[]/

I’ve spent years looking
but never really noticing much.
The world has been a blurry mess
with small dimples of clarity,
pooling fragile glass
that lets the light cut through the fog.
The light burns the retina,
but the scars are clairvoyant
they release the eye to believe,
understand what it wants
instead of what things look like.
The whole situation is a spectacle,
a goddamned spectacle
that I can’t seem to pick up or put on
in the effort to attain permanence.